A Wednesday in mid-February. The Great Hall. Breakfast.
The owl swarm poured through the vaulted windows on schedule, hundreds of wings beating, filling the hall with a rush of feathers and noise.
Letters, parcels, newspapers, and the occasional loose feather rained from above. Some landed neatly in front of their owners' plates. Others bounced off neighboring students' heads.
A large eagle owl broke through the outer edge of the flock, wingspan broad, flight steady, its trajectory elegant and controlled, in sharp contrast to the Barn Owls wobbling around it.
It landed in front of Regulus. One talon gripped the table's edge. The other extended, held perfectly level, waiting for him to take the letter.
The Black family owl.
Strapped to its talon was a black envelope. The seal pressed into the flap bore the full Black family crest.
Regulus saw the color of the envelope and the formal grade of the seal, and his hands went still.
Black envelope. The family's protocol for official notifications.
Weddings, funerals, family councils, major decisions. Only those occasions warranted a black envelope with the full heraldic seal.
Something had happened at home.
He set down his cutlery and removed the letter.
The eagle owl ruffled its feathers, pivoted on the tabletop, and launched, wings skimming the top of Cuthbert's head. Cuthbert ducked and swore under his breath.
The envelope opened. Orion's handwriting, dark blue ink, brief.
Pollux Black had passed away that morning. The funeral was set for this afternoon. Assemble at Grimmauld Place, proceed together from there.
Regulus read it through, folded the letter, and tucked it into his robes.
No particular feeling stirred.
Pollux Black. Walburga's father. His maternal grandfather.
In truth, he'd had almost no relationship with the man.
A handful of memories, all from early childhood, four or five years old. Family gatherings. A white-haired man sitting at a distance.
Tall, thin, severe, silent. Holding a glass, never moving much, never saying much. An occasional word exchanged with Orion. A nod to Walburga, nothing more. The children didn't register at all.
Never mind affection. They'd barely qualified as acquaintances.
But within the House of Black, Pollux had held considerable standing.
The line of succession for Head of House ran through the Arcturus III branch. Arcturus to Orion. Orion was the current Head.
Pollux sat outside that line, but he'd been the family's second most important decision-maker for decades.
Several of the Blacks' most critical marriage alliances bore his fingerprints.
The match between Cygnus Black III and Druella Rosier had been his work. Two Sacred Twenty-Eight families joined by blood.
Narcissa's betrothal to Lucius, he'd had a hand in that as well.
Black and Malfoy. Two great houses joined. From negotiation to settlement, Pollux had threaded the needle, managing every detail. Looking at the result, Lucius and Narcissa seemed genuinely fond of each other and would likely be happy. So the arrangement hadn't been purely political, at least. The old man hadn't treated family members as mere instruments.
Then again, some arrangements turned out less well. Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange.
Whether Bellatrix had chosen that herself or Pollux had engineered it, the pairing was a disaster either way. Two lunatics feeding each other's madness.
In the early years after Orion assumed the role of Head of House, nearly every major family decision had been Pollux's to make.
Arcturus III had handed the seat to Orion and stepped back. But Orion had been young then, mid-twenties. Capable, decisive, but short on experience.
Pollux had held things together during that period.
He'd handled most of the external affairs on Orion's behalf, kept the Blacks functioning within the pure-blood sphere, and bought the young Head of House time to grow.
Once Orion had found his footing, once he could make sound judgments on his own, hold his ground against the old foxes at the negotiating table, and ensure the Blacks' interests were protected in every decision, Pollux had stepped back.
Cleanly. No clinging to power, no half-measures. He handed over what needed handing over, released what needed releasing, and from then on offered opinions only when asked.
A Black who had spent his life operating behind the scenes. One daughter, two sons. A great deal accomplished. Now dead.
Born 1912, died 1974. Sixty-two. Not short by Muggle standards. Far too early for a wizard.
Dumbledore was past ninety and still gallivanting across the globe. Most witches and wizards lived to a hundred and twenty or thirty without issue.
Pollux hadn't reached the age he should have. The letter didn't mention a cause, and Regulus didn't dwell on it.
Pure-blood families, decades of exposure to the Dark Arts. The toll on body and soul ran heavier than for ordinary witches and wizards. Add a lifetime of high-pressure maneuvering, the constant drain on will and judgment. Sixty-two was early, but not surprising.
Regulus set down his knife and fork, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and stood. "Family matter. I'm taking the day off."
Cuthbert was mid-bite on a piece of toast and nodded, mouth full. Hermes glanced at him but asked nothing. Alex set down his fork, concern flickering across his face, but he stayed quiet too.
Regulus left the Slytherin table and let his gaze sweep toward the Gryffindor side.
Sirius had received a letter too.
The same black envelope, sitting beside his plate, already opened. The letter inside folded crookedly.
Sirius was stuffing bacon into his mouth, expression unchanged, eyes not touching the letter. He was eating.
James Potter leaned over and bumped his shoulder, craning to look at the letter, half a sausage still clamped between his teeth, mumbling something.
Sirius turned his head, glanced at him, still chewing, and shook his head. He folded the letter carelessly and shoved it into his robe pocket.
Then he looked up, over the row of Gryffindor heads, and his eyes met Regulus's.
He stared at Regulus, still chewing mechanically, grey eyes blank and unfocused. Hard to tell what he was looking at. Harder to tell what he meant by it.
That mouthful of bacon had been going for an unreasonable amount of time without being swallowed, cheeks puffed out, the whole effect resembling a dog mid-cud.
Regulus waited a beat.
Sirius kept chewing. Jaw working, gaze empty, aimed in Regulus's general direction but possibly not seeing him at all. Left eye vacant. Right eye glazed.
Regulus stopped waiting and walked away.
---
Out of the Great Hall, into the underground corridor.
Professor Slughorn's office sat beside the Potions classroom. At this hour he was usually already inside.
The door stood ajar. Regulus knocked twice.
"Come in, come in." The professor's voice carried out, already brimming with energy for so early in the morning. "Ah, Regulus, good morning."
He pushed the door open. The office was warm, the fireplace burning strong.
Slughorn sat behind his desk. Before him lay a dish of candied pineapple, golden and arranged with care. The air was thick with sweetness, so dense it was like someone had overturned a honey jar.
The professor had a piece pinched between his fingers, halfway to his mouth, when he spotted Regulus and brightened. His free hand was already beckoning.
He wiped his fingertips with a handkerchief, beaming, and nudged the dish forward. "Have one? The finest confectionery in Diagon Alley. Special reserve."
Regulus declined, polite but firm. "Thank you, Professor. I've just eaten."
"Perfect timing for dessert, then."
"It's seven-fifty, Professor."
"Dessert has no schedule."
Slughorn picked up the piece again with unshakable conviction, popped it in, chewed twice, and closed his eyes in satisfaction. "Mm. The balance of tart and sweet, impeccable texture. Sure you won't?"
Candied pineapple at the crack of dawn.
Regulus watched the professor chew with evident bliss, swallowed his second refusal, and got to the point.
"Professor, I'm here to request leave."
Slughorn's eyebrow rose mid-chew. "What's happened?"
"Pollux Black. My grandfather. He passed away this morning."
The chewing stopped.
His expression didn't shift dramatically. The smile didn't fully vanish, but it froze, fixed in place, and then he swallowed what was in his mouth and wiped his fingertips with the handkerchief a few extra times.
He looked at Regulus, face composed now, brow knitting. "Pollux is gone?"
Regulus nodded.
Slughorn leaned back. His gaze drifted past Regulus to a yellowed group photograph on the wall, and he said nothing for a long moment.
That the professor had known his grandfather was no surprise. Regulus stayed silent and let him be.
After a while Slughorn set the handkerchief down on the desk and brought his eyes back, expression recovering.
His voice carried the particular wistfulness of an old man revisiting the past. "Your grandfather was a man of extraordinary judgment. Of all the pure-blood families I've known, some were shrewd but shallow, others deep but rigid. Pollux managed to be both and still leave people feeling at ease. Anyone who dealt with him, whether they liked him or feared him, agreed on one thing: his terms were always fair, and his word was always kept."
A flicker of a smile, as if a specific scene had surfaced in memory, then gone.
"One year, late fifties I think, the Wizengamot was revising a statute on magical creature protections. Several families had commercial interests at stake. The pure-blood side erupted, nobody willing to concede an inch, the whole affair heading for an ugly break. Pollux stepped in. Spoke to each family, one by one, brought them around, and produced a proposal. Every family gave up a little, every family kept what mattered most. The statute passed. Everyone's dignity stayed intact. Afterward, the representatives who'd been fighting hardest were standing in the corridor chatting, and one of them said, Pollux Black... that man is something else."
Slughorn looked at Regulus, something earnest entering his tone. "Your grandfather was a man of real skill, Regulus. Before any of you young people were born, the fact that the House of Black reached the position it holds today, Pollux put an enormous amount of himself into that."
Then he sighed, settling back into his usual rounded manner, and pulled a blank leave form from a drawer. Quill in hand, he wrote as he spoke.
"Leave granted. I'll note today's lessons and assignments for you. Make them up when you're back."
He signed the form and slid it across.
"My condolences, Regulus. Be safe."
Regulus took the form and inclined his head. "Thank you, Professor."
He turned for the door. Behind him, the professor added, "Give your mother my regards. Tell her Pollux was a remarkable man."
Regulus paused and glanced back.
Slughorn had picked up another piece of candied pineapple, but it sat untouched between his fingers. He was staring out the window, his round face carrying an expression that looked, for a moment, quite empty.
Regulus pulled the door open and left.
---
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